


Mobile Suit Gundam: Starburst

by Eurydice_II_of_Macedon



Category: Gundam & Related Fandoms, Gundam Unicorn, Mobile Suit Gundam: Hathaway's Flash, Mobile Suit Gundam: MS IGLOO, 機動戦士ガンダム0083 STARDUST MEMORY | Mobile Suit Gundam 0083: Stardust Memory
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurydice_II_of_Macedon/pseuds/Eurydice_II_of_Macedon
Summary: A "What if?" story about Marida if she survived the events of Unicorn and went on a journey to find out what happened to her sisters, the other Ple Clones.
Relationships: Marida Cruz & Ple Two
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

Entering the hanger bay and making her way across the launchpad to her dormant mobile suit, Marida Cruz greeted and thanked the _Nahel Argama_ engineers who painstakingly and so quickly refurbished the _Kshatriya_ according to what she and the rest of the _Garencieres_ crew laid-out in their specifications. For what little they had to work with in both time and resources, the outcome was spectacular and, resting the flat of her hand on its cold surface, all without removing what made it hers. Though stripped of its basic frame and weaponry, and transformed into a larger, bulkier, but, vastly more efficient machine, it was still familiar to her touch, each stroke beneath her palm sending a refreshing tingle from her head down to her toes, calling forth every battle fought and survived despite not one scar or abrasion marred its newly painted surface. Even so, she could still feel them, resonating. They were a part of her, never to wither or disappear as she let the faint smile on her lips widen, remembering those words she’d spoken once before.

 _Compassion alone cannot save people_ , she echoed in her mind as she traversed the reaches of her conscious, fingers continuing to move across her mobile suit's newly coated finish. _It cannot erase sin or wash away impurities_. The memories she'd once kept buried. _But, in spite of it all…_

"In spite of it all…" she repeated aloud to herself, staring at her hand and mulling them, gently moving it this way and that caressingly. "It's all too sad," she finished, now saying the words of her fellow pilot, friend to herself and the Princess, Banagher Links.

Letting it fall, she looked at her palm, the lines patterning across. Years of pain and sorrow and hardship. Curling her fingers, she continued to mull over those words and the reason behind them. Where it all started, with the touch of a human hand. The warmth of another encased inside her capsule, everything dark, everything silent. Confined behind glass, how chilling and lonely, quiet it was, then, blinding, bathed in a harsh, bright, light. Like she’d witnessed the explosion of a distant star. That innocent, smiling face of the man who greeted her into the world, bedazzled in red and gold. What first she laid her eyes upon, the face of God, and without even needing to be told, she’d known him to be her Master. Though, even God had a darker side, and when his beloved took his life, all His sins were laid bare. Violent and howling, as she and her sisters mourned his loss yet, ever His devoted followers, even when God became the Devil, carried out his orders until they, too, fell from the Heavens and burst into flames.

To her sisters, he was the Almighty One, the absolute existence, but, to her, he was only the first among many down a long list filled with unquestionable servitude. She, the only one, had defied the dedication and service they all upheld to their late first master. For the others, it would be their first, and their last. Each of them had come from the same being, but, as with everyone else, they were different from the source they were created from. Individuals with the same face and abilities, and, each their own unique soul, their own existence. The concept of which — a soul — the term she had pondered over and over all those years ago, still stuck with her even now, bringing forth the question she always asked herself: could a soul... be lonely? If her sisters were still alive today, would they be wondering the same things as she? Would they still be different as they were back then, or would they become one and the same? A single entity only existing to follow their master and his or her orders, without question? Except, they were all gone, lost forever, and nothing she could ever hope for would bring them back, no matter how much she longed them to be beside her. Snuffed out in a matter of milliseconds as she floated aimlessly in space, surrounded by that darkness once again. That silence, all those years ago. The bond they shared severed just like that, and she, desperately reaching out for the lines connecting them, only able to grasp the thin air inside her cockpit— those bright stars fading and, yet…

Balling her hand into a fist, Marida looked up at her mobile suit, still searching for an answer to the words: in spite of it all.

Walking out back to her quarters, Marida's mind reached further down to other memories that she'd rather leave buried; that she knew she couldn't avoid in order to figure out the real meaning behind them, and brought to the surface again was the crash immediately after her descent from the battle.

The landing had jostled her small frame around the cramped environment of her escape pod and she'd collided with the back of her seat, knocked unconscious for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Waking to blaring lights, the emergency systems had still been online. Her helmet, smeared with vomit and blood, cracks along the thermoplastic glass had sealed shut and kept her alive. Upon removing it, a pounding headache hit her and the pain shot its way throughout the rest of her body as if punishment for defying her dedication to her first master. Punishment for abandoning her sisters. The punishment for her betrayal.

And, holding the same side of her head where she'd suffered the concussion back then, she'd tried opening the pod's hatch as everything wavered and kept a firm hold onto the handle that went down the corridor to her quarters, gritting her teeth.

Time seemed to slow as she gasped for air.

Slumped inside the pod, her mind listlessly floating around inside her head, she'd thought herself horrible. A traitor. Killed them all with her own two hands and, when the hatch finally opened, she first met the woman that was to be her second master: the owner of an illegal child prostitution ring, she was a cruel and vile woman who only saw the value in others by how much they could endure before outliving their usefulness and were discarded.

It was under the thumb of this new master that she had been broken, violated, and suffered the most. Multiple scars and burns were accumulated over the years with her, and, temporarily, she would be given a new master each night. Sometimes the same one more than once. Countless times, she hadn't felt anything at all. Countless times, nothing registered in her brain except how to best serve the constant fluctuation, ever changing, following her second master's commands. The light of the headlamp overhead and the creaking of the bed. The feeling of something heavy, always so heavy, being removed from her stomach. That is, until, one day, the man who was to be her third master came.

Marida now stood in front of her quarters, staring at the door, as the pain began to ebb away.

The first time she had met Zinnerman, she had thought him to just be another master, but, after his handling of the woman who was her second, she knew him to be her official third. He had named her, given her a new identity and a home, and was all around the sole one she was truly grateful to call 'Master' — even if he despised it — and, recently, 'Father'.

A bulwark of a man, she remembered with a smile on her face the look in his eyes when she'd called him that; the pain and sadness and regret of his past mended with the tears he cried. If only some, it was enough. She had given back what he desperately, longingly, wanted, and, in turn, she had gotten what she never knew she could. Thus, listening to the overhead announcement that they were almost to their destination at Laplace’s Box, whatever awaited on this last battlefield, she was ready for it.

In spite of it all, there was always _hope_.


	2. Chapter 2

Miniature display monitor resting on his lap, Lucas watched it blink on and off as he used the grappling arms of his TOLRO-800 to clear discarded junk and rock from an old sector of space outside Side 3. The debris had been floating around untouched since the One Year War and he wiped his brow. It was easy, but tiresome work.

Looking around his crowded cockpit, out the domed glass casing protecting him from the cold nothingness of outer space, there was still a lot of it left and, twisting to look behind, red lights from the landing station were illuminating the back of his 800, turning its own red coating a brighter shade — shining off the once polished metal, now caked in dust and whatever else he'd been sifting through during his shift since he started — he was far from done. Yet, even as he was sweaty, his 800 dirtied, and with work still to be finished, he smiled. His eyes went down to the monitor on his lap. It'd blinked again.

Explosions from the battle being broadcast live somewhere by Side 4.

Unwrapping a candy bar, he chewed it thoughtfully. The broadcast was solely focused on the white and gray mobile suit that was wreaking havoc on what looked to be modified Zaku II's. Its design was recognizable anywhere: a Gundam. Seeing it in action was the current highlight of his life, having followed its exploits since its first mention on the news. It was the reality he wanted for himself. Not to be piloting it, specifically, but to just be there, fighting alongside. To be a _real_ mobile suit pilot was his dream. One that he could only continue to envision with rapt imagination at what it must be like as he watched the battle rage on. All he had were the sights and the sounds and none of the feeling. He wanted that feeling.

Taking another bite of the candy bar, the screen lit up with colorful arrays of explosions in bright reds, yellows, and oranges but sometimes greens, purples and blues; the sizzle and burn of beam weaponry, and the belting slap of the few outdated projectile rifles, then… the incredible happened. The Gundam became engaged in combat with another of its kind.

Another Gundam!

Black and gold, it was in clear contrast to its counterpart, and, as they grappled with one another, each gave off some type of light that seemed to have wills of their own that morphed and bent and pushed against the other. It was a mesmerizing sight, until, without warning, missiles fired from another mobile suit separated them and, what he could only think of as a large green bell pepper, swooped in. It fired off another series of missiles, engaging the black Gundam as the white one disengaged to join another section of the battlefield. He continued to watch, spell-bound, as this green mobile suit managed to go head-to-head with the black Gundam, weaving in and out of the space blowing up all around them with the expertise of a seasoned veteran — even succeeding in blowing off one of its lower legs, until it halted mid flight and held out its arms.

Lucas wondered why until he saw that a Federation vessel, what he assumed to be its carrier, was being targeted by the black Gundam, and realized the green mobile suit was shielding it. The black Gundam raised its beam cannon and he waited for it to fire. When it finally did, hitting the right side of the green mobile suit's cockpit, its aim veered further right, destroying the mobile suit’s entire same side, the beam skirting the edge of the Federation vessel behind. It then dropped the weapon, probably out of charge, and continued after the white Gundam, leaving Lucas to stare at the green mobile suit left adrift.

Now watching support crews from its carrier coming to retrieve it before the feed went back to the action, deja vu hit him like a wave when he was reminded vaguely of Léon when he'd watched her pilot the same TOLRO-800 that he was using now.

That same feeling of awe.

Whoever the pilot of that green mobile suit was, he was very skilled. The smile he'd kept plastered on his face the whole time curved downward. Whoever that pilot was, he was probably dead now, given the extent of the damage.

And, he was so fixated on the rest of the battle that he hit a drifting chunk of debris, scratching his 800 and bumping his head on the glass. Rubbing the spot, he sighed at the monitor he’d pooled all his savings into on the floor, broken, and accepted his mistake.

* * *

"What a waste," he said, going back to his job.

After his shift, Lucas walked the evening streets of Side 3, hands in his pockets as he absentmindedly took in the city sights and thought of his sister and what she must be doing right now. Probably still working, as usual.

It was always work, work, work with her, and she never had time anymore for anything else, especially in the past few months leading up to and during this new conflict that was taking place. That battle he'd watched earlier had been a part of it — the biggest one thus far other than that Neo Zeon assault on Earth, the local news stated on the holos. If only he could have seen its outcome, looking up at one of the large screens positioned all around Central Square. The only things being displayed on them now were local advertisements.

He recognized his mom's company, which specialized in mobile suit manufacturing and engineering, of which he and Léon helped out with from time to time, as he waited for his turn to cross the intersection along with dozens upon dozens of other people on their way home for the day, and listened to the ads cycle through until the news came on again, but, didn't he look up again until a stern-faced girl with striking green eyes appeared on every screen, far as the eye could see. In front of him in the crowd he was a part of , she even appeared on someone's handheld. She looked familiar, but, he couldn't place from where until the image zoomed out to reveal her in Zeon garb — and not just any, but, that of royalty.

"I am Mineva Lao Zabi. Once heir to the Principality of Zeon, and I stand before you all to address a secret I have only just recently discovered and would like to share with everyone, here, now, and in the bright future ahead of us."

Mineva Lao Zabi.

 _Zabi_.

His parents had mentioned the Zabi name before, saying that all of them were dead.

Only, there one was, right before his and everyone else's eyes, garnering their full attention as she spoke of possibility. That the world was entering a new century, ripe with new opportunities for humanity to better itself. Strive above conflict and come together for the sake of both ordinary humans and Newtypes alike. A member of a family known for causing the greatest conflict known to mankind in this Universal Century and could be blamed for the majority after. Yet, this girl wasn't a power hungry dictator or warmongering rebellious leader. She was simply just a girl, one who desired peace and, after a few more choice words, said her farewells and left everyone in a buzz.

As he crossed the street and continued on his way home, wondering what his family would think of this sudden turn of events, he passed the medical facility, the one his dad worked at, and knew that his parents would welcome the news. Léon, on the other hand… he wasn't sure. She never cared much for current events and he doubted she'd even bothered to leave her work unattended to watch or listen to that broadcast for so much as even a second.

Lucas propped his arm on one of the railings overlooking the medical facility, arguably the best hospital on Side 3, puckering his lips and thinking of asking her about it anyway. She was bound to brush it off, like always, and change the subject to something that interested her. Usually this was something like the inner workings of that civilian transport she fixed last week and her raise because of it — complaining about how she was long overdue for a promotion instead of another measly minimum wage increase, again.

Repairing, testing, and flying all manner of non-space and space worthy machines alike, that was her main job. Sometimes she would get a combat type mobile suit, but was under orders from dad not to pilot them if they were and, as much time as their dad spent in front of that lodestone from the One Year War, polishing it and the names engraved, the reason why was clear. Not that it stopped Léon from doing so, or himself from dreaming he could, someday soon. Right now he had no real goal other than to become a pilot, and he sighed, knowing he'd probably get stuck in a civilian job like most other people despite what he wanted. Just like his sister.

Still, he hoped, and would continue to do so, since growing up in a family like his, it was only natural the chance would come his way eventually. His parents used to be pilots, his sister had once almost been, and now it was time for the torch to be passed. The battle from before was still fresh in his mind, and if he could just experience something like that firsthand, that was all he wanted. It was only fair…

He vividly remembered the two Gundams and that green mobile suit shaped like a large green bell pepper.

A Gundam was recognizable anywhere, no matter what era it was represented in. The green mobile suit, on the other hand, was an unknown. He'd studied all the different models and types and couldn't recall ever seeing anything truly like it. The design was Zeon, that much was obvious, but it wasn't a heavily modified Zaku or Gauf or Dom or any of the Neo-Zeon variants he'd read about.

It really wasn't a big deal what it was, but, the likelihood of him becoming its pilot might be. He knew that the Federation sometimes refitted and refurbished old suits, and while it was more likely he'd get one of theirs, maybe he'd come across a Zeon one. Maybe that specific one, even. After all, he'd seen GMs at both his mom's company and his sister's workplace. They'd been, for the majority, inoperable and obsolete, but if there were some of their suits here then the opposite was true, too.

Who's to say they didn't have more of that particular suit?

* * *

Returning home, he went around back to the warehouse where his dad largely spent his spare time working on medical equipment and found his mom, auburn hair tied back into a ponytail, casually lounging at the home office she'd set up for use whenever she had to bring her work home with her. This time it was another civilian suit, a construction type not unlike his 800. Seeing her staring attentively at each of the six connected monitors at her station, eyes darting this way and that, Lucas tried not to disturb her as he made his way over, careful not to step on any of the cables running along the warehouse floor, when she spoke.

"Watch your step, my readings just fluctuated."

He looked down, his foot on a cable despite his effort. Quickly, he stepped off and apologized. Looking at the suit, he thought of asking about that unknown Zeon suit after being thanked and asked what he wanted.

"Oh, nothing really," he said instead.

"Just stopped by to chat, huh?" his mom replied, clicking and typing away on her keyboard. "Anything in particular?"

Seeing numbers and lines and graphs and blueprints and tons of other data on the screens closest to where he stood, Lucas shrugged. "Do you know about the broadcast from earlier today? The speech?"

"What about it?"

His gaze wandered off to the side, toward various other mobile suits — all civilian — and the supports that held them, ready to be sent off to their buyers, as he reluctantly continued, "About the battle… The one right before it..."

"I'm listening," she said, looking over something he couldn't make out from the corner of his eye. Whatever it was flashed and she hit a series of buttons and it stopped.

He gulped and went for it. Never hurt to try. "There was this… Zeon mobile suit… I'd never seen before. It was green, had two wings that made it look like a big green pepper," — he tried to give a visual representation, creating two curved wings on either side of his body from left to right—"and used lots of different weapons. Uh, let's see," he held up his fingers and began counting off, "there was a particle cannon, beam saber... I think a gun of some sort... another cannon…" Trailing off, he stood there with six fingers up. "A-anyway, the pilot was very skilled. He almost took out a Gundam..!"

"Hm," his mom mused. "A Zeon suit that looks like a fruit…" She scratched behind her, "Do you mean…" On that screen nearest him a picture of a suit resembling a giant fuzzy ball of squash appeared, "... this…?"

"What, is that?"

"The fruit of a madman's labors." She smiled when he cringed. "Your father had the same reaction. Well, joking aside, could you be thinking of a Neo-Zeon suit? Like a Zulu? No? Was it an earlier model? Then..." — the screen changed to show a small, bulky white, red, and purple suit with two wings almost exactly like the four he'd seen — "... this could be it."

He peered closer, reading its name aloud, "The AMX-004... Qubeley…?"

"It's one I helped to build."

He reared back, blinking in astonishment. "Kinda… yeah. Yeah! That's almost just like it! You worked on it?"

"Yes. Back when I still held onto the hope that Axis was fighting for a worthy cause," she said with a sigh, "But, once again I was proven wrong and only stayed to finish my work and then left soon as I was." Indicating at the screen, she finally looked at him. "The one you saw was probably based on it."

He got closer to the screen again, pointing at it as their eyes met, "Do you have any more information about it?"

Her brow raised. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden?" Then, the realization hit her and she scowled slightly. "Did you find that suit out there somewhere? You're not thinking of trying to pilot it, are you?"

"N-no, I… No, not at all. I..!"

"... just wanted to learn?" Her expression softened. "If that's all, then I'm a-ok with it. Though… knowledge can be a dangerous thing… So… be careful what you delve into, alright?"

"I promise!"

As she went back to her work, pulling up more information about this new suit for him to read, he barely got through the first few armament logs before asking her if she had any stories about it.

She chuckled. "And, what, the stories I've told you about my Zudah aren't good enough for you anymore?"

"I mean… you worked on it and all, so… I just thought… Well, you know…"

"Oh, whatever happened to that boy whose eyes used to always twinkle when I talked about the time I saved your dork of a father during A Baoa Qu?” She bemoaned dramatically, placing a hand on her forehead and looking away. Then, she was back, looking at him, jabbing a finger. “Ah! Speaking of, since I'm doing you a favor by telling you an old war story, I have something I want you to run to him, if you don't mind…"

Now it was his turn to moan.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hands on the controls of her Qubeley, Ple Twelve shielded her eyes from the intensity of the battle all around her. Like the heat from a thousand light bulbs that had reached their brightest peak, their highest limit, and popped, sending hot shards of glass flying everywhere. Only, the bulbs were actually mobile suits both friend and foe alike being ripped apart by explosions, and the shards their smoldering remains, as she tried to see through the white flashes and maneuver her way around the wreckage, trying to find her partner in all the chaos._

_Her comlink crackled with the overlapping of many high-pitched voices as they sent coordinates of enemy suits and the status of their own positions, confirming kills and relaying deaths. She pressed a series of buttons to bring up an all-encompassing view of her surroundings, and pinpointing Ple Seven's — one green triangle enclosed with three red — her partner was currently engaged and she rushed to the location to link up and assist, but, everything was already taken care of by the time she got there. Green beams of energy impaled one of the enemy mobile suits from every possible angle, Ple Seven’s funnels swerving to immediately attack the next when it was destroyed. Undaunted, her partner dove up and around using them as a distraction, blasting the second enemy suit away with her main cannons. They then turned up and came down to face backwards, firing at the third farther away. As it burst into flames and burned up in the nothingness of space, a face identical to her own appeared on a small screen in front of her, uppermost right._

_"Twelve, pay attention, Master expects no failures. Stay on me and don't get lost."_

_She nodded. "Understood."_

_Swiveling her own mobile suit around, she boosted to Ple Seven's location and together the two of them joined up with Ple's Three and Eleven. Ple Three's Qubeley was damaged, a wing shot through, and it was now just a mass of mangled, dead weight. Her older sister's mobile suit teetered as she tried to stay level, and her cockpit also appeared to be dented, the residue from an impacted missile round visible. Two more screens came up, Ple Three a little above center left and Ple Eleven the bottommost right. Blood was trickling down Ple Three's forehead and her voice came out strained over the comlink._

_"Broken arm, won't be much use." Her voice was a bit deeper than the others, and it showed when she grunted from the pain. "Can't do much without the arm, but I can still provide enough support. Seven, I want you to take the lead." Her eyes darted to one of her other feeds. "There's a large collection of enemy suits, led by that red one, far upper right, mid center."_

_"I see them," Ple Seven responded, attention shifting rapidly between her own feeds._   
_"Eleven, I want you to stay near Twelve. The two of you provide backup fire while I use my funnels and Seven shields us."_

_"Got it!" Ple Eleven said, smiling. She came up beside her, keeping pace as Ple Three began marking targets. When she finished and ordered them to get in formation, Eleven spoke again. "Ready, Twelve?"_

_A nod. "Yes."_

_"I'll get the left, you take the right!"_

_Another nod. "Understood."_

_Ple Twelve closed her comlink, main cannons locking on targets as a dozen funnels flew by on either side and hovered above the enemy mobile suits, raining down green rays of death as she and Ple Eleven let loose not soon after, ripping through the enemy suits not fast enough to evade. The red one encased itself in a shield of energy, the beams deflecting away. The four of them dispersed Minovsky Particles so that none of the beams hit their Qubeleys, and the moment Ple Three stopped her funnels from firing, she ordered them to stay back._

_Ple Twelve watched as her older sister fired her main cannons while simultaneously charging the red enemy mobile suit, ramming into it. Before they could react, their older sister's Qubeley and the enemy both exploded a massive fireball, molten bits of each peppering them. Immediately after, the comlink came alive with more activity than ever as her sisters mourned their loss — Ple Three, one of the originals, was no longer with them. One of her screens opened up, Ple Nine's enraged face filling it._

_"Keep fighting, there are still enemies to take down!" Her shoulder moved in the feed, fingers pressing a series of buttons and out of her Qubeley's side view Ple Twelve saw her Qubeley coming up fast, intercepting a group of enemies by herself. "Master's enemies must all be destroyed, remember that!"_

_Just then, a cold chill ran down Ple Twelve's spin, as if the world had collapsed in on itself, her sight becoming dark and every sound silenced. Her sisters felt it too. All at once their faces popped up her Qubeley's displays. That same look of anguish, and soon enough, a few of them began to panic, starting with Ple Ten, who exclaimed what they'd all feared to say._

_"Master's dead! They killed him!"_

_Her comlink overloaded with frantic chatter and she noticed Ple Eleven's Qubeley drifting closer towards her, as if the heat emanating from her Qubeley's thrusters would keep the coldness away. On her screen, she looked pale, while Ple Seven's face was far from forlorn, in contrast, almost as if Master's death empowered her own resolve to keep fighting. Ple Nine shouted something to shut them all up, even redder with rage, as she took care of the last enemy she had so recklessly engaged._

_Ple Four's voice, soothing and calm, broke clear through, shushing all the others. "Keep it together, all of you. We still have a task that's been given to us: to destroy Master's enemies, whether they be 'Gundam or 'Haman'. Everyone form a line, we'll hit our Master's enemies with one decisive blow!"_

_"You heard Four! Get your butts in motion!" Ple Nine shouted._

_"Eleven, Twelve! Let's move!" Ple Seven commanded, her Qubeley already doing so, boosting towards the coordinates set for them. At that moment, a stray missile smashed into her. She and her Qubeley were knocked off-course and sent spinning through space away from them. Her image on the screen jostled as she was thrown around her cockpit, and it filled with static seconds later, cutting off her voice that told the two of them to keep moving towards the others._

_"Seven!" Ple Eleven screamed. She turned her Qubeley after their older sister's fading mobile suit in the distance, and Ple Twelve was about to boost after her when Ple Four's voice cut in._

_"There's no time! Eleven, get back here! Twelve, get in formation now!"_

_Silently obeying, Ple Twelve silently mourned the loss of her sister, as did Ple Eleven, getting into formation. She strayed a little backwards, unsure of herself and that of what their purpose was, or, if they even had one to begin with. The question came to her again then, as even though she was among her sisters, she was lonely. Gripping at her controls, she looked down._

_Could... a soul... be lonely?_

_Ple Eleven's screen came to life. "Twelve, come on! We can do this! Together, all of us! Three and Seven are still here!" Her sister touched her heart and smiled reassuringly. That sweet voice combined with her smile. The way her eyes twinkled like tiny stars, despite how exhausted she looked, drenched in sweat._

_And, without warning, her pleasant smile was overcome by a powerful light, as a beam tore its way through their battle-line, its intense heat vaporizing her sisters' Qubeleys as it skimmed the space in front of her own, burning its head and melting the outer shell of its armor, as all their lights vanished in the nothingness in space along with her anguish._

_And, desperately, crying dry tears, she reached out..._

* * *

Marida opened her eyes to see her arm outstretched towards the ceiling, trying to take the overhead lamp between her fingers, unable to. She retracted it and stared at her hand. Letting it fall back to the bed and regaining her senses, she looked around, smelling anesthetic. She knew where she was: a hospital.

Yet, as her fingers grasped at the white sheets of her bed, she wished she wasn't.

Life support systems were attached all over her body, feeding data to various different machines beside her bed, an IV line in her arm regulating fluids. Her right arm was in a splint and cast. She couldn't feel it. In fact, she couldn't feel the whole right side of her body, and, as she tried in vain to move that side of herself, a door slide open and a nurse entered, attention moving from her clipboard down to her.

"Y-you're awake!" she exclaimed, rushing to the door. "Doctor! She's awake! Quickly!" The nurse then came to her side with a reassuring look in her eyes, pressing gently on the bed. "Don't try and move, alright? Your body is still far from recovering."

Marida nodded her understanding and they both turned their heads when the doctor entered the room. He was a thin man, hair grey and features grave. On his face was a pained smile.

"So, you are awake..." His eyes went to the machines. "Everything looks stable from first glance. May I see the clipboard?" The nurse handed it to him and he flipped through its pages. "You were very lucky. The only injuries you sustained were a few cracked and broken bones, mainly in your right arm and leg. There was also internal bleeding, but, we've managed to stop it. Your body will feel numb in those areas we've fixed for a couple of days, so I ask that you not try and move as already instructed." He gave the clipboard back to the nurse, pulling a small hand-held device from his pocket and turning it on. "Also, I was given this from Mr. Zinnerman, who was unable to stay. He left it for you to view. Here," — bringing up a table, he set the device on it and positioned so she could see, — "this is for your eyes only. We'll leave the room. We hope you get well soon."

As the two of them left, Marida watched the screen as it buzzed to life and filled with Zinnerman's slightly static figure. He was sitting somewhere on the Nahel Argama. His features were shadowed by the area he was in, and while the quality was somewhat poor, she could clearly hear the concern in his voice.

"Marida, I'm leaving you in the care of someone I trust on Side 3, until this whole thing with Laplace's box cools down. Right now, I'm heading to meet with the Princess, who has begun a series of discussions over the future of Zeon and the Federation. It'll be awhile before I can come to see you, and... and I know you'll be alright on your own, so I shouldn't be worrying so much, shouldn't I?" He huffed and leaned back, linking his fingers together. "Your service is over from this point on, you're free to choose your own path from now on… No, that's not..." He looked down then back up after a pause. "You've always been free. Now, all that's left for you to do is operate the controls." A faint smile. "I'll come back to—"

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here, Zinnerman." It sounded like the Princess. And, sure enough, her slender form filled the screen. Banagher was behind her. "We'll all come back to see you, once all of this is over."

"That's right. Riddhe too." Banagher said, smiling. "He's torn up about what he did. I know you've probably already forgiven him by now, and I told him that, but, even still..."

"Marida, thank you for taking care of me..." the Princess said then, as Zinnerman filled the screen again.  
"Do what you want, Marida, your life is yours now, as it should have been from the beginning." Her fourth, and now, final, master, trembled, tearing up as the recording became fuzzy and shut off.

Staring at its blank screen, Marida lay there in utter silence. Free to live my own life, huh? she thought after a moment, looking down at her hand again. She flexed the fingers. To grasp life between her fingertips and never let go, she chuckled at the idea. Turning up to the ceiling then, at the lamplight as it shined brightly, she closed her eyes and smiled.

If only they could have shared in her freedom, too. Together.

* * *

_"You hold it like that, yeah," Ple Seven told her, a hand over hers on one of the levers of her Qubeley. "Move it forward, like this, and..." The cockpit came to life and Ple Twelve looked at her older sister, beaming beneath a stoic face of admiration. "See? It's not hard at all."_

_"Twelve!" Ple Nine roared, her small figure visible through the open hatch on the platform down below. A head shorter than the rest of them, she looked even tinier from faraway, but made up for it with that big voice of hers. "You're with me! Seven, quit helping her! She's my partner, not yours! Go back to Eleven!" She leaned back and to the side, craning her neck. "She can't even get inside her suit!"_

_Ple Seven sighed. "So then why haven't you tried helping her out?"_

_"Because she's your problem, not mine!"_

_"I'm coming now." She moved towards the hatch and stuck out her tongue as she passed, calling back as she touched down on the platform for Ple Nine to make sure her partner got the hang of it. It was in her hands now._

_Ple Nine yelled back. "I know already! Get off my case!" She turned to her with a scowl. "Well, Twelve, it's you and me! I don't want you weighing me down when we start practice maneuvers, so I'm going to teach you everything I can so you don't become a burden!" She reached over and grasped her wrist. "Come on, first we're starting with training you outside in Zero-G!"_

_Her pint-sized older sister practically dragged her out — not that she was resisting — and they landed on the platform, their sisters going over their mobile suits and lounging about outside them, inspecting them as they chatted among themselves as Ple Nine led her away from the lined up Qubeleys. When they came to the door that would lead them into the rest of the base, the two of them passed by Ple Two, Ple Nine locking eyes with her as they went._

_"You're going to eat our dust when this is over, Two!" Ple Two just glared back and Ple Nine scoffed, going through it with her in tow. "You're going to be a million times less of an annoyance, Twelve, after I'm done with you! Count on it!"_

_Ple Twelve glanced back at Ple Two, who’s back was now turned to them, standing within the doorway to the hanger. The oldest sister. She was so... detached from the rest of them. And, as Ple Nine stopped in front of the Zero-G chamber, she wondered why that was._

_The feelings... of a soul…_

* * *

Marida stared at a bouquet of flowers in a vase that hadn't been there before. She must have dozed off without realizing, and sighed gently. The majority were an almost bluish shade of light purple, reminding her of her old mobile suit, the AMX-04G Qubeley and its single eye that was common among all Zeon mobile suits. The eye glowed back at her and she shied away, turning her attention to the set of crutches lying against her bed. The memories were still painful, and, then, she thought, if that woman had salvaged hers, was it possible she'd done the same with her sister's? Deep down, she knew it to be an impossibility, and the more she tried to deny reality the harder it hit back.

Without a doubt, Ple Three was gone, sacrificing herself to destroy that red mobile suit and its pilot. Ple Eleven was caught in the line, along with Ples Four through Ten, excluding Nine, who she remembered as narrowly avoiding the beam, too. Other than her, that left Ples Two and Seven, and all the others after her, Thirteen through Twenty. More than likely, as with Thirteen through Twenty and beyond, Ple Nine had went down as well, or else she'd have heard mention of her by now, somewhere. Felt her undeniably larger than life presence. If it was Ple Seven, she would've already been down to visit her, whether she was allowed to or not. Which left Ple Two, but, it was the same as with Ple Nine. There was no mistaking her if she were still alive. Looking back at the flowers, she wondered who had placed them there and when the doctor and nurse came, asked.

"It must have been Oliver," the nurse answered as she took the recording device and handed it off to the doctor.

"Oliver…?"

"Yes. Our senior technician," the doctor confirmed, pocketing the device and giving the nurse the clipboard in exchange. "A kind-hearted man who has worked here for many years. He regularly brings flowers to new and recurring patients alike."

"I see. Can you thank him for me?" A part of her wished it had been Ple Seven, even the tiniest sliver of a chance, but, she swallowed her disappointment and managed a faint smile when the doctor nodded. "Tell him I appreciate the kindness."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that." After checking on some things she knew not the nature of other than they were vital in keeping her stability, he wished for her to get well soon and left with the nurse following close behind.

Once they had, Marida thought of how long it would really be before she could move again. Then, when she was finally released, where would she go? The contact Zinnerman had mentioned, the one he made arrangements with — what were they like? Were they a man or a woman? There were so many questions.


	4. Chapter 4

At his sister's second workplace, a warehouse owned by a company that transported supplies and equipment between the various colonies around Side 3 and sometimes even further, Lucas shuffled his feet, waiting for her late night shift to end. Leaning against one of the easier accessible hangar entrance doors, hands in his pockets, half an hour had already passed since he'd first arrived.

To keep his mind occupied other than counting the dozens of ships holding crates of precious materials, many going to expansion efforts around the colony to ease the overcrowding issues still prominent within, he thought of the flowers he'd given to his dad and wondered who they were for, this time. Not that it really mattered.

Scratching the back of his neck, he asked one of the workers that happened to pass by for the time and sighed: her shift had ended ten minutes ago. He didn't even know why he'd bothered coming down. With his luck, Léon had probably slipped past him and was already on her way home. He leaned forward, linking his hands together as he stretched. He was already here, might as well stay, and, gazing up at the artificial stars above the colony, chewing on a piece of candy, the full hour went by before he decided to head back home.

Thinking of the green mobile suit that black Gundam had been fighting as he left the warehouse, the information his mom had let him view was certainly interesting, but really hadn't told him anything. While the original suit was called a Qubeley — and piloted by the Haman Karn, no less, as his mom's story had revealed, which was cool — that didn't mean the one he'd seen was, also. If only he had more to go on…  
And, coming to his house, he went around back like before. His mom wasn't at her station, and… maybe… Glancing around, he made sure she wasn't anywhere nearby because if caught he'd suffer a fate worse than death and slowly crept his way to it. He'd barely made it to the chair when a voice came from out of nowhere.

"Need something?"

He jumped back, wide-eyed, heard pounding. "Don't s-scare me like that!"

"Don't go snooping around things that aren't yours." Léon was lounging on top of a stack of crates next to his 800 which Mom must have picked up or had her get, a lit cigarette in her mouth.

With a grimace he acknowledged her retort. His heart still raced. "I-I didn't know... that you... erm…"

"Only when I can't help it." She stared at the ashes from the bud as they fell to ground when she lit it — little shimmers of light in the night — before flicking the stub somewhere unseen with a pained smile. "And that isn't often. Not anymore."

"Right. Well, a-anyway…” He took a seat on one of the crates by the warehouse doors, waving away lingering smoke. "Where are Mom and Dad?"

She nodded toward the house. "Sleeping. As I'm sure you can guess, Mom told me to keep an eye out. So, what are you looking for?"

He hesitated. "I'm trying to… identify this specific type of mobile suit I saw during the broadcast of that battle earlier today. Did you see it?”

“The battle?”

“The mobile suit. Mom showed me the one it was based on, but none of that info helped."

"And? What was it?"

"A Qubeley, piloted by Haman Karn."

"That right?" She pulled out another cigarette, but, seemed to reconsider, and tucked it back in without using it, then looked hard into his eyes. "You want to know more about this suit you saw… because…?"

Lucas looked down and began twiddling his thumbs. "Well.” He shied away from the intensity of her gaze boring into him. "I don't know… If on the off-chance I pilot it, I want to know what I'm doing… So… I just thought…"

"That's never going to happen," she scoffed, coughing. "You, piloting a combat-approved mobile suit? Zeon or Federation? Get real." Her tone was now low, gloomy. There was also a hint of forlorn in her voice that he couldn't place, the reason unclear. Was she upset about her own failed efforts?

In turn, his own anger rose. "I know you, Mom, and Dad are against it, but, what else is there? I might end up hating it, but at least I can say I was one!" He glared at her, animated as he spoke. "That I tried! That I was really experiencing what so many others have! That Mom, and Dad all have!" He wasn't mad at her, of course not, but the fact that he was limited in his freedom to do what he wanted. To be who he wanted to be. Even if he knew that in the end it wouldn't amount to anything. "I don't want to be left out! Unlike you!"

“What was that?” She hopped to the floor and seeing her oil streaked face beneath the ball cap and her muddied blue eyes behind her dirty blonde bangs, he wasn’t mad at her, but he did tend to let his anger get to him, from time to time. He felt himself grow even smaller in her already glowering presence and when she raised her hand, he flinched at the punch that was soon to come. Yet, instead, she simply reached out and rubbed his head. "You don't have to be the big man and prove yourself to us, you know. Being a pilot isn't as glamorous as you think. You don't want to pilot one. Take it from me." She smiled.

Looking at her with wide eyes, Lucas could clearly see the pain and the regret and the sadness in it even though she kept it tight-lipped and faint. Normally tough as titanium, she now shook like a malfunctioning machine past its prime. "Sis…?" He came forward a bit, holding out a hand, "You don't look so good. Maybe you should lay down and—"

She turned away."I have a headache from the cigarette. It's been awhile since I've... done it..." There was a certain lapse to her words, as if she were choking on them. Suddenly, she cradled her head in her hand, and closed her eyes. "Ah… Just… Nevermind. Go to bed, will you?"

"A-alright, I will, but I still think you s—"

She sucked in air through clenched teeth. "Just go. Now."

* * *

Lights out, hands on his stomach, Lucas lay on his bed, thinking of the lengths Mom would go to see that he doesn't become a pilot. Of course she would have a plan to keep him away from her workstation — that wasn't what surprised him. What did was that Léon had been it. At the least he would've expected there to be some sort of failsafe, a lock that prevented him from accessing anything without the proper passcode or something along those lines, but, never in a million years would he have suspected Léon being there. He rolled over on his side, staring at the wall. If Mom had convinced Léon to stop him, then the information he wanted was definitely on there somewhere. Perhaps even more.

The next day he went directly to the warehouse after breakfast and found his mom and sister standing and talking in front of his 800. They were speaking too low for him to hear what, but, they appeared to be arguing judging by their body language. Whenever she was agitated Léon always crossed her arms and leaned, while in contrast his mom was loose and relaxed and rarely anything else and it was hard for him to tell if she was too without hearing her tone of voice. Regardless, he waited until they broke off from one another to approach. Léon stalked off, ignoring his early morning greeting and disappearing into the house. His mom noticed him standing there and called him over, asking what he wanted.

"Dad made breakfast," he mentioned, looking back toward the house as he went up to his 800 beside her. "Eggs and bacon and some muffins."

"Only some?"

"I ate a few."

She laughed softly. "A few, huh?" Flashing a tiny smile, it vanished when she turned to his 800 and a moment passed before she spoke again."I heard about last night," she revealed.

He blushed. As expected, discovered already. "Ah… See... About that…"

"You wanted to know more. It's only natural," she said with a smile that once again vanished quickly as it came. "And the same can be said of your sister."

"Huh?" His eyes widened a fraction. "Is that why the two of you were…?"

"I purposely kept information I deemed harmful a secret. All of it is there," — she gestured toward her workstation — "Locked away safely. And when she tried to press me for more about the Qubeley, I refused and here you and I are talking as a result."

"I have the feeling she wasn't looking for specs?"

His mom shook her head. "No. And, if you want to know, you'll have to ask her yourself."

"I don't think she'd like that."

"That she wouldn't." Her eyes went to the floor briefly. "You remember when you two first met? Officially?"

"Of course I remember," he said, reminiscing, a little unnerved by the cracks now visible in her normally iron will. Whatever argument they had, it really upset her. It'd been nearly seven years since dad had introduced them. Officially. Unofficially, they'd already met days before then, and he couldn't help but tingle at the thought that once upon a time they'd hated each other's guts. Then he felt a knot in his stomach and accompanying pain, remembering vividly the literal punch to the gut he'd taken during that unofficial encounter. "Why?"

"Back then, she was distant. Lost in her own worries and fears and doubts. This made her violent, but, eventually, she began to let go and was and still is better because of it."

He was reluctant to pry, and then he thought of the cigarettes. "Is that why she smokes?"

"As a coping mechanism, yes."

"From… what…?"

"That I can't say. Again, ask her. Let me explain," — she went over and took something from her workstation, talking as she did — "Study this photograph." It was offered to him. He took it. “What do you see…?"

It was a small picture, like one kept in a personal living quarters, tacked to the overhead compartment with a piece of tape or a nail. The picture was faded, its quality worn from the years that had clearly gone by since it'd been taken. Despite this, Lucas could see that the boy in it as if it were taken only yesterday. He had soft eyes and a baby-like face, blonde hair — not unlike himself — and the more he stared the more the boy's Zeon uniform looked out of place. His innocent grin made that all the more truthful. Yet, he was proud. Proud to wear the uniform. Proud to be a member of the Principality of Zeon. His grin reflected this wholeheartedly. Behind his eyes there was a strong sense of duty, and no amount of time was going to change that.

"A young cadet?" he answered, giving it back.

She took it, and looked at it longingly before saying anything. "He's my little brother," she said after a time. "Your uncle. His name was Erwin. He was killed in action during the One Year War.”

“Mom… I…”

She shook her head. “No, don't apologize. You have no reason to. It happened quite some time ago and..." Her voice trailed off.

Watching her eyes start to well at the corners, he averted his own. No words came to him to comfort her, and he waited, but, instead of succumbing to her tears his Mom wiped them away. Then, she began anew. "I want you to keep it. Here." She handed it back. He thanked her and she continued, looking up at his 800. "You know, there are over a hundred modifications that I've done to spruce it up. Years of work… Yet, no matter how many modifications I put on her, she's still the same machine. Since she was first thought up in the minds of the engineers who built her, put on blueprints, and then manufactured — she's only had one purpose: cleaning up messes… and the mistakes of the past… And, like machines, people grow obsolete as time passes them by. They become useless and are abandoned as the world around them advances. Some… sooner than others…  
"Though, unlike machines, no matter how many modifications are put on them, they are built for more than one purpose. It may not seem that way at first, but, they are. People change. They grow, they adapt, they learn." She gave a slight nod of acknowledgement at the photo. "Like the boy in that picture. Going from a simple bratty kid to a soldier just like that… But, sometimes, they become stuck in the past and can't move on. Trapped between their regrets and self-guilt and everything else that weighs them down…. Your sister is one such individual — and it seems that now those things have resurfaced. Ghosts from the past have come back to haunt her."

"G… Ghosts…?" He was confused. "What do you mean?"

But, she didn't answer and instead told him to get ready for school and not take the ramblings of an old woman too seriously. Though, he found himself contemplating her words even so.

With Mom, whatever she said was never a rambling. It always had a purpose. Some meaning behind it, no matter how small or insignificant in the larger scheme of things, and as he sat down at his desk in class, Lucas knew this was no exception. From his uncle whom he’d never had the privilege to meet, to these ghosts that Léon was dealing with, the fact that they wouldn’t let her or him pilot a combat-approved mobile suit, and even that green mobile suit. The flowers his dad had sent him to deliver, he wondered who they were for…

* * *

Days later, Lucas sat on a bench inside the recreation lounge within the medical facility his dad worked with the lunch his mom had prepared for him and that he’d forgotten on his way out the door. Arms crossed, he observed the patients milling about. Most were elderly civilians too aged to look after themselves anymore, though there were a few younger people—children, mainly—and if he recalled they were orphans displaced from the recent fighting for what was now known as the “Laplace Incident”. Those here were from Zeon families, the sons and daughters of the men and women who went off to fight under the banner of Full Frontal’s Neo-Zeon remnants.

Remembering seeing the man, the second coming of the Red Comet, himself, in action on the holos, his heart raced. Whether as a pilot for the Federation or Full Frontal’s Neo-Zeon, he could only imagine what it must have been like out there during one of those many battles. He again thought of that white Gundam and its black counterpart… The green bell pepper mobile suit… Oh! He jittered. Looking at his arms, they were shaking, and, trying to calm himself, he rubbed them. Then, he tensed out, sighing about his dream that might never come true, and hung his head. All that excitement had only succeeded in making him even more depressed about the whole situation. Staring at the floor, he thought of his sister’s ghosts.

“Mind if I sit here?”

He didn’t look up, but nodded. Whoever it was sat next to him and out the corner of his eye he minded the casts that covered their body as they set their crutches to rest on the wall beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” he said in reply.

Léon’s ghosts. They must have been something truly horrible, for his mom to have brought it up. Could it have been the death or deaths of something she cared about, like his uncle? Lucas sighed again. Of course, whatever it was, must be another reason for him to not become a pilot, right? He grinned despite himself. If he tried to learn more, expose those ghosts of his sisters, then it was bound to only deter him from that dream, and that was exactly what his mom wanted to happen. She couldn’t lose him like his uncle. Well, clenching his teeth, he wasn’t going to give up that easily either, and raised his head again, a fire burning in his stomach. He would learn more, he would grow, he would adapt, and dammit, he’d become a pilot one way or another!

And, thinking of the night Léon had stopped him from using mom’s workstation and their heated argument afterward, maybe, just maybe, if he risked punishment again by rummaging around a bit he’d discover something that he hadn’t before. Something hidden from him.

Springing to his feet in the sudden realization that nobody was home at the moment, he knew his only chance was now in the short window between school being out and his mom, sister, and dad all at work, and was halfway down the hall when he remembered his dad’s lunch. Spinning around, it was still on the bench, along with the person—a woman, he noticed now—with the casts and crutches. Hurriedly, he went back for it.

Picking it up, he was about to head over to the receptionist for his dad to get later like he should have done in the first place instead of waiting because he was always busy, when the woman called out to him.

“I can take it for you,” she said, smiling.

“Ah…” He blushed upon seeing it.

“You looked like you were in a hurry.”

His heart raced again. “I…” He did nothing as she gently took his dad’s lunch from his hands, and set it in her lap.

“Smells good.”

He blinked rapidly and shook his head. He had to snap out of it. Pull himself together. He stood up and frowned, going from her to the cast. “Are you sure…?”

“Yes.” She smiled again.

His face turned a shade redder. “T… T-thank you!” With that, he hurried off, eager to get home.

Blood pumping, he couldn’t get that woman’s smile out his head, and a smile came to his lips as he still felt the warmth of it, as he jogged down the sidewalk in the direction of his house and what he hoped to be some answers to the questions that floated around in his head and the dream that still fluttered in his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

Giving the lunch she agreed to deliver for the boy to her nurse, Marida asked about him, and learned that he was the son of the man who’d brought those flowers for her.

“Yes, Lucas is his name,” the nurse continued on as they walked the medical facility’s garden, staying close at hand lest she fall. “Both Mr. May and Mrs. May often works long hours. His wife, who helps to fund this hospital and various others on Side 3, makes him a lunch at exactly the same time every day on the dot and has it sent over — usually by either Lucas or Léon or her secretary, and sometimes even...”

Marida took note of all the flowers in the garden they passed on their walk, listening absentmindedly to her nurse prattle on about the May family, and spotting one of those with a purplish center, she was again reminded of her Qubeley. She flexed her fingers inside the cast. Only a couple of more days and she wouldn't need it anymore. The one on her leg, too. Her recovery was astounding, the doctor had said, and, if she didn't do anything rash, or a previously undiscovered injury surfaced, she could be out of the hospital in a couple of more weeks. In her short time here, she still hadn’t seen Father’s contact. Did that mean they would meet after she was situated somewhere else? Her nurse said something, the topic shifting from the Mays to that handsome mechanic they’d sent to deliver Mr. May’s lunch one time when nobody else was available, and Marida gave her a sideways glance.

Her name was Bethann, though she preferred Beth for short, and after that first day upon learning they were around the same age and the initial shock and unfamiliarity had worn down, the young woman had really opened up. She was also quite… the talker… and giving a small smile at whatever she was going on about now, Marida went back to the flowers again. Her mind drifted.

_Ple Twelve steadied herself when her older sister clapped her hard on the back, offering words of praise as they exited the Zero-G chamber. She nodded when Ple Nine told her they'd start practice maneuvers right away as both of their grasps of piloting were in sync, for the most part._

_As the two of them then came back to the hangar, she saw that Ple Eleven's Qubeley was already out. Ple's Two and Seven were near her mobile suit docking position, where they appeared to be conversing. Next to her, Ple Nine scoffed again._

_"Acting all friendly now." She looked back at her, grinning devilishly. "Well, we'll show her, won't we Twelve? Just because we're part of the younger ones, doesn't mean she can look down on us!"_

Marida gathered her crutches and bent down.

“Hey, what’re you…!”

Plucking a handful, grasping them between her fingers, she went over the possibility that maybe Ple Two or Nine were alive. Where would they be? Who would they be with? Who would they have become? Holding exactly eleven flowers in her good hand, Marida looked back to Beth supporting her from underneath the armpit afraid she might teeter and fall and her smile widened a fraction. She reassured the other girl that everything was fine and that she could let go.

Beth did so, heaving a sigh. “Don’t scare me like that.”

She was a good person.

* * *

Back in her room and resting on her bed, Marida asked again of that boy, and, more specifically, of his family. Of his father.

Beth finished pouring fresh water into the vase that now held the eleven flowers she had taken from the garden, and set it down on the table then wiped off any spillage before answering. “His older sister is Léon. Tall, blonde, beautiful if she didn’t spend all her time covered in grease and oil.” It was night out — or what would be perceived as night back on Earth at the current hour — with the only light was from those in the hallway, the door left slightly ajar, and those illuminating the colony through the blinds, casting her in a contrasting pale yellow and bluish-white glint that made Beth seem like the two halves of heaven and hell. When she leaned forward to fix her bedsheet, continuing about Lucas’s older sister, hell came to the forefront. “A girl like that, wasting her time in a factory repairing mobile suits…” She huffed. “Of all things! Not to mention, she’s so… so rude…!”

“You seem to know their family quite well. Léon, especially.”

Cheeks puffed, Beth crossed her arms and took a seat in one of the guest chairs beside the window, pulling it closer. “Of course I do!” she said. “But, ah, crap,” — she glanced at the clock — “It’s almost lights out. You need sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it.”

Marida watched her go, closing the door gently behind her, and then looked to the eleven flowers in the vase. Each one represented a sister she had lost, and out of them all only she had gotten the privilege of living a life free of their shackles. Free of their Master, or, in her case, Masters, and also the only one to have someone precious enough to her to call Father.

That night, was the first she cried since coming to Side 3.

But, the next day, sitting at one of the tables in the cafeteria eating lunch, having Beth around helped to make the reality of that hurt a little less. She was grateful for the company, even if her earlier question from last night had devolved in yet another ramble of hers as she dipped her fries into some ketchup and swirled them around. Jabbing one in her direction, Beth finally finished.

“... and that’s why I don’t like her.”

The reason she had been so upset last night had been because while her father and mother and Mr. and Mrs. May were friends and she would often see their two children, older Léon and younger Lucas and sometimes play together, whereas Lucas was ‘very gung-ho about just about everything, you know how boys are, but, very sweet when it came down to it’ Léon was ‘an up-tight bitch, like she always had something wedged between her butt’.

“She even hit me once.”

Marida frowned. She sounded like a very troubled person and tried to imagine her being a part of the same family as either Mr. May or his son. Maybe she took after the mother? Though, she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions until she saw it with her own eyes. “Maybe you just haven’t gotten to know her well enough yet.”

“Yeah, well,” — Beth shoved another fry in her mouth — “If she ever comes by to deliver Mr. May’s lunch, steer clear of her. Unless you want a knuckle sandwich.”

She nodded. “Underst…” she began, then abruptly paused. Even now, she couldn’t get rid of that facet of herself. Her eyes wandered down to her plate. The imprint of her conception.

Beth perked up. “Hm? What’s wrong?” She sprang into action, practically about to leap over the table to see where the pain was, or whatever sudden affliction was ailing her, when she was stayed with a thin-lipped, pained smile.

“I-I’ll keep that in mind.” No, she wasn’t like that anymore.

The other young woman slowly eased back in her seat, eyeing her suspiciously. Quizzically. Thinking of all the possible reasons for her patient and friend’s shutdown, before furrowing her brow and going for another fry. “Ah, well, if there’s something you ever want to tell me, just know I’m here.”

“Thank you.” Her smile brightened.

She was a really good person.

And, wanting to change the subject, before Beth could have an opportunity to launch into something else to keep their usually quiet meetings lively, Marida decided to ask more about her and her family.

“Boring. My family were a part of Axis.” The first Neo-Zeon movement was helmed by Haman Karn.

“Like the Sleeves?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Were they mobile suit pilots?”

Beth pursed her lips, and tapped the ID that must be clipped to her clothes at all times within the facility, off duty or not. “No, part of the medical staff. They surrendered, got pardoned, settled back down here, had me — not in that order. Anyway,” she leaned back, looking up at the ceiling, “Then there’s me. Just me. Their precious little girl. Stuck here, following in their footsteps…”

Marida stared at the other young woman, thinking. How best to respond. Father’s words came to her. “You want to be free. Live a life of your own.”

She giggled. “Yeah, isn’t that the truth?” Beth sat back up. “Actually, I do like it here. I like my job, what I’m doing. Helping people. You and everyone else... I just…”

“Want to help others in different places? In… spite of it all… the dangers... out there, you want to see what else space has to offer? Earth? Who else you can save?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s very admirable,” Marida said. She touched a hand near her heart. “I don’t think that’s boring at all. Helping people, that is. I kind of… would like to experience that too.”

Beth blinked, mouth slightly agape. “I-I-I—!” Then, she exploded. “Well, that makes two of us, then! You and me, we’ll get out of here sometime and travel! You with me?!” She offered a hand.

Marida stared at it for a moment and the pure look of joy on Beth’s face, then accepted, clasping them together. “It’s a promise.”  
As Beth went back for more fries because it was in her opinion one of the only good things the cafeteria here had to offer besides the spaghetti which served on Wednesdays and not Thursday much to her chagrin, Marida stared at her own half-eaten hotdog before taking another bite. They weren’t so bad either. Though, she felt the urge for some ice cream, and seeing Beth come back with another serving of fries and ketchup, wondered if she liked ice cream, too.

“Oh? Did you want some? I know this great place.”

“No, not really.” Kind of, yes.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Suit yourself.” After a time, she nodded at her plate, having already finished her second plate of fries. “Are you finally done with your hotdog?”

“Yes…”

“Then, let’s get going. Come on!”

Being pulled along — ever so carefully on account of her condition — Marida’s mind went back to Ple Nine doing the same. Not only on that day during practice maneuvers, but, countless times throughout their time together as partners, as sisters, and her heart sank yet again, remembering it. As if sensing her despair, Beth’s hand squeezed tighter around her good wrist. Leading her to the receptionist area, the young nurse asked for a wheelchair and after being given one had her sit down in it.

Wheeling her out of the medical facility for the first time, Beth took her to a nearby park and told her to wait. She left hastily, and again watching her go, jacket swaying as she ran out of sight, it was also against protocol to let a patient alone, not to mention to roam freely outside the medical facility, even off duty. Furthermore, she wasn’t supposed to be favoring one patient over another, such as by having meals with them or having long private talks into the late night, but the doctor who’d see Marida that first day and Beth’s boss, Mr. Makoto, authorized it. ‘It’s necessary for the patient’s recovery to have a like-minded individual of a close age to mingle with at this stage’ he had told whoever he reported to, and they, too, had authorized it. Considering that Mrs. May helped to fund this medical facility in particular, Marida couldn’t help but wonder if she had a hand to play in that decision. If so, she would have to thank her later, as well.

She trusted Beth to be straight back, wherever she had gone, and occupied her wait by observing the happenings and goings in the park, recalling what the young nurse had told her about the Mays.

Stemming from Beth’s story about Léon, Mr. May and Mrs. May had both been participates in the One Year War seventeen years ago. From the war’s start with the Principality of Zeon’s attacks on Sides 1, 2, and 4 during the One Week Battle to its end and Zeon’s subsequent defeat at A Baoa Qu, they had fought against the Earth Federation as mobile suit pilots. Now both were retired, one a highly sought after engineer though he was mostly content helping those in need here — and still quite handsome despite his age, apparently — and the other the CEO of a predominantly civilian mobile suit manufacturing, engineering, and refurbishing company she’d only abbreviated as I.G.L.O.O. because its full name was a mouthful. Between them they were well known throughout the larger engineering community on Side 3 and beyond.

As for Léontine and Lucas, Léon was older by a few years. As they didn’t get along, Beth hadn’t elaborated on Léon except that she had just showed up one day as a new member of the family. Adopted from one of the many conflicts since the One Year War. Just like one of the orphans back in the medical facility that she sometimes interacted with. Someone’s precious little, their daughter, and now, as her Father had done for her, the Mays had taken her in as their own. She felt a certain connection through that alone, and would like to know more of her. She couldn’t believe Léon to be the bully Beth pinned her as. Or, at least, not entirely.

Regarding Lucas, from meeting him briefly the other day, what Beth had said of him being a typical boy, yet, endearingly sweet, was accurate. She realized then just as Beth was coming back that she would need to properly introduce herself to him, the next time he stopped by for his father.

“Here… you are…” Beth huffed, holding out a vanilla swirl cone for. A napkin was wrapped around the cone and as she surprisedly accepted it, cautioned her not to get any on her gown. It was already melting. “Well? Aren’t you going to eat it?”

When she finished her ice cream, vanilla swirl, cone, and all, Marida didn’t know what to say. “Thank you, again…”

“N-no… No problem,” Beth replied. “I thought it’d be nice and all… Since we’re friends…”

At that word, Marida smiled. Friends. “Where’s yours?”

Beth shooed it away with a tired hand. “I’m on a diet.” Then, wiping her brow, she stuck her tongue out in disgust when she realized her hand was sticky with melted vanilla swirl. “Ah, crap!”

Marida chuckled.

Beth laughed.

Yes, they certainly were friends.

And she was glad they were.

* * *

At exactly the same time on the dot, just as Beth said, there he was again: Lucas May, his father’s lunch in hand. She chuckled at how red his face became when he noticed her. She waved as he approached, rubbing the back of his neck out of what she assumed was embarrassment. It was… heart-warmingly innocent. She was fondly reminded of Banagher.

“Ah, thank you again, Miss… Yesterday I was—”

She shook her head. “There’s no need to apologize.”

He smiled sheepishly, bowing his head. “Erm…” Then, it was gone, and when he raised his head to look at her again, there was something fiery in his eye. She felt a resonance in her chest, and again, her connection with Banagher came to her then. Though faint, it was a similar feeling. “But, there is! I shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, his crimson blush turned iron hot with passion. “It was wrong of me!” And suddenly it all came crashing down. His head lowered. “And all for nothing…! I… I’m truly sorry, Miss…!”

“Marida.”

He looked up. “L-Lucas,” he replied. After a moment, he started again. “Miss Marida… I—”

Before he could finish, she spoke. “Would you like to take a walk with me, Lucas?”


End file.
